(𝟐𝟎.) Carving Through the Dark,

━━━ chapter twenty, carving through the dark. ❝How can something be so much heavier but so much less than what it seems? Darling, we sacrificed. We gave our time to something undefined. This phantom life sharpens like an image, but it sharpens like a knife.❞

ONCE, ON A DAY THAT HE COULD NO LONGER TRULY REMEMBER, HIROKI FELL. The world seemed to end when he scraped and bloodied his knee. A portion of his life seemed to ebb away with every drop of blood, leaving him frightened and lightheaded, an unbearable coldness settling into his body as he tried to stand but found himself unable to do so. Lying on the harsh New York pavement, his eyes had welled up with golden tears, and he began to feel uncertain if he would ever be able to walk again. His mother had looked over his injury—the very wound that would kill four-year-old Hiroki—and simply sighed, her pitch-dark eyes like cosmic voids, absorbing all light and revealing little of the constellations that lay within as she extended her hand and instructed her son, "Sit up now, Hiroki. It's nothing serious, just a small cut."

Upon hearing these words, Hiroki wept and sobbed for what felt like the last moment of his existence, utterly devastated as his knee bled and his hand trembled, beyond comfort or saving—because his mother did not understand him. She had not seen the manner in which the entire universe had crumbled alongside Hiroki; without his control, without a warning, without offering him a chance to prepare himself. She had not felt his fear as the ground beneath him gave way and his body crashed onto the hard pavement. She hadn't noticed how the clouds and the sun had snapped and collapsed from the sky alongside him. Hiroki's mother stood there, bewildered by his outburst and unable to see the true cause of his fear.

His father had appeared then, lifting Hiroki up into his arms right from where the four-year-old had fallen. 

Hypnos had spoken a lot, soothing the child's trembling body, but it hadn't been those forgotten words of reassurance that had calmed him. It was the strength emanating from his father's embrace that centered him, holding Hiroki tightly enough to stop the whole universe from unraveling any further. In that moment, he found haven in his father's grasp, engulfed in such a sense of security and protection that he could no longer cry. He did not have to look up from his father's chest to see that the sun continued to rise high in the sky, unchanging; that the clouds floated above, as they always had; and that the ground below remained solid and stable. Hiroki knew that the world would remain constant as long as he remained cradled in his father's arms.

Now, as Hypnos stared at him a lifetime later, the starlight that once illuminated his golden eyes had now extinguished into an unreachable abyss. Micah stood very still, hardly breathing, as he took in the weight of Hypnos' gaze. It was as though the world had once again come to an end yet again, leaving him alone in the darkness. 

Enough, said the god. He dared to question him—What do you think you're up to?

Micah's hand trembled now, just as it had done all those years before.
His heart pounded in his chest, threatening to burst out. He clutched the scythe handle tighter, his knuckles paling as he tightly grasped the handle. Amidst the deafening rhythm of his pounding heart, which drowned out all rational thought, Micah was seized by a fleeting revelation: Hypnos had never once declared Micah as his own son. He wasn't Hiroki; Hypnos would not understand him at all. They were not father and son, but a god and an apostate—any attempt to explain himself would be futile. The chasm that separated them seemed as insurmountable as the profound depths of Tartarus itself. And so, as Iris sought the god of sleep for salvation and with his brothers struck silent by the unexpected arrival of their father, Micah permitted himself to do what he had always excelled at in the presence of unworthy deities—he bowed with humility, lowering himself as far as his broken body allowed, his forehead making contact with the blackened marble floor of Olympous and the edge of his cheeks scraping against the fragmented debris below as a serene smile draped his face.

He looked up at Hypnos through the wisps of his hair, the strands marred and frayed from his relentless attempts to bleach them in an effort to mimic the god's natural white locks. "Lord Hypnos," he called, his voice barely audible. "I am on my knees, begging for your compassion and forgiveness! I have realized the error of my ways and wish to make amends for the pain I have caused."

Hypnos, his concern apparent, approached his son when Micah's shoulders began to tremble. Incapable of repressing it any further, laughter broke out from him. "Sorry, sorry," he apologized, his head thrown back as he laughed unbashely. He smiled sharply at Hypnos, knowing it was the only thing he could do to hurt the god. "I didn't mean to make light of the situation; I just couldn't help it!" He exhaled a deep sigh as he rose to his feet, using the scythe for support. His words turned cold as he explained, "Calling me little prince, as if I knew you. As if I were a doll you could play with. I'll be serious now, Lord Hypnos. You should do the same."

Phobetor, unyielding when it came to any hint of disrespect toward their family, would not brook such words. The god gripped Micah's forearm firmly, compelling him to sit upright. "You will not speak to our father in such a way, child—" Phantasos interrupted him with a cordial smile, removing Phobetor's hand from where it gripped flesh. "Icelos, brother, let's not treat Micah in such a harsh manner! We must remember that he is still learning and growing—" "Father!" Morpheus interjected, taking a confident stride forward; his gaze briefly held a note of disapproval as Iris emitted a small squeal. He swiftly regained his composure, clearing his throat before continuing, "We hadn't foreseen your arrival for quite some time! It's unfortunate that you've stumbled upon these rather unpleasant scenes, but rest assured, father, once Grandmother arrives, everything will be perfectly resolved!"

His brothers' frantic voices sliced through Micah's thoughts like jagged blades, sending searing pain to the base of his skull, where a throbbing headache began to take root as their words overlapped in an attempt to make sense of the unexpected turn of events. He cast a glance at the hand clasping his forearm, which showed no sign of relinquishing its grip. Apart from the god of nightmares, it was evident that neither Morpheus nor Phantasos had anticipated Hypnos's unexpected appearance tonight. Phobetor, who had strangely vanished earlier.

What, Micah wondered idly, had his brother done, exactly?

Hypnos barely spared his eldest son a glance. "Enough, Morpheus. I will speak to you later," the god replied. To Phobetor and Phantasos, he ordered kindly, "Unhand him. Come here now, Hiroki. There's no reason for you to be here, especially in the midst of this chaos. I'll take you home."

The god extended a hand toward him.

All the clamor of the battle and the conversations around him seemed to recede into the background as Micah fixed his gaze upon it. Muddled noises and blurred figures faded away, leaving only the god's outstretched hand in his vision. Disbelief simmered in his stomach, transforming into a smoldering anger as he gradually deciphered the words aimed at him. Hypnos will take him home, as if the concept of "home" for him wasn't an abyssal pit that imprisoned indescribable horrors, an unfathomable expanse of shadows that devoured all light. It was the nadir of creation itself, where grotesque, blood-colored clouds of venom hung low, rupturing through the jagged obsidian mountains that formed the mocking sky. The air itself was corrosive in Tartarus, burning the lungs with each breath, obstructing the nostrils and the throat with blisters that burst and oozed with a pus-like black substance that emanated a putrid stench of decomposing flesh. There was no option to run or escape—the ground was formed of razor-like shards of glass and bone fragments, designed to slice flesh and inflict excruciating pain upon anyone who dared to step upon it. In Tartarus, the sole sounds that prevailed were the harrowing screams, contorting in macabre synchrony with the anguished wails of the damned. It was a realm where pain and suffering reigned supreme, where every step forward felt like a thousand steps back, and hope seemed like a distant memory. That, Tartarus, Hell itself, was his home—not the illusory domestic paradise Hypnos was attempting to return him to.

Phobetor's hand let go.

He did not move. Had Hypnos truly convinced himself that Micah would now accept his offer, taking his hand and embracing a life of blissful togetherness with the Matsuoka family, people whose faces had faded from his memory? Did he assume that Micah would simply slip seamlessly back into the role of his kind-hearted Hiroki, despite all the suffering he had endured? He trembled at the thought. How arrogant—he had given up his Percy, but Hypnos had the audacity to assume that he would simply accept his hand now—How naive of a god, how utterly weak of Hypnos. Resentment pooled like poison in his mouth, threatening to spill out in a venomous tirade.

"No," Micah retorted, his eyes locked onto Hypnos's outstretched hand, a visceral repulsion coursing through him. "No, I refuse—I won't go anywhere with you! Who do you think you are?" His voice trembled with anger as he continued, "You think you can just appear in my life and expect me to forget everything? Your empty gestures won't fool me. I am older now, Lord Hypnos, I'm not your childish son" he paused, staring directly into Hypnos' eyes. "I no longer believe in the gods, and I do not believe in you. I alone will make my destiny come true."

Hypnos regarded him with boundless patience, his countenance resolute. "Hiroki, I understand your anger and confusion," he replied calmly. "But please, let us leave Olympus. There is so much more to the story than you realize, and I will explain everything to you. I know it's hard to trust me now, but I promise that once you hear the truth, everything will make sense." Hypnos extended a hand towards Hiroki, his eyes filled with sincerity and a hint of sadness. "It is not safe for you here."

Micah's jaw clenched in barely contained fury, his eyes smoldering with restrained frustration. "I'm not Hiroki!" He yelled, his voice ripping through the demolished chamber of Olympus, drowning out even the deafening clash of thunder and fire from the gods' furious battle for one singular second. The air itself seemed to shudder at his words, each syllable a venomous dagger aimed at the heart of the god in front of him. "Can't you fucking understand that? I'm not your son! I'm not your fucking son! I don't owe you anything! It is my purpose to be here! I'm the one destined to destroy Olympus—Grandmother picked me! I'm not whatever little boy you picture me to be! I'm strong because of her, not you!" He felt like a tempest, a chaotic maelstrom of emotions that whirled and clashed with such intensity that he felt like he was lost in a storm. Micah felt trapped in a relentless cyclone, spinning faster and faster until he couldn't discern one emotion from another, struggling to grasp even a fragment of coherent thought. He had a haunting awareness that the words he uttered were nothing but fragments of his inner turmoil, a disorienting babble that made no sense to anyone, including himself.

Whether he understood or not, Hypnos replied with simplicity.

"Children don't need to be strong." The god said, "They need to be safe."

It felt like an insult.

His whole life, Hiroki had dreamed of becoming a hero—of being the greatest half-blood to ever be born to a minor deity. He dreamed of creating peace and maintaining it for those who were weaker. He had a vision of conquering the world with compassion and presenting his father with the most beautiful throne on the highest point of Olympus, because to a child like Hiroki—born innocent and defenseless—Hypnos had been the greatest god of all. But now, those dreams felt shattered, washed away in the streams of the River Lethe. There was no compassion or peace, kindness or love in the world. The reality was harsh and cruel, filled with pain and suffering. There's only sacrifice—only endless battles and endless losses—and there's only Percy, Ethan, and Nico, who needed Micah to get them through the darkness so they would be able to become the light that guides others. How could Hypnos stare at him now and act as if he could save him? How could he offer his hand and say that he did not need to be strong when his whole existence—the lives of others— relied on his strength?

Micah will never be safe. There is no escape; there is no place where the relentless night will not find him.

"A god can only be as powerful as his worshippers," he told the god. "And Lord Hypnos, you have none. You cannot protect me in the way you believe."

"I cannot," Hypnos admitted, pained. "I cannot."

Micah stood motionless, stunned, uncertain of how to respond. It was as though a piece of his very essence had splintered—the childlike part of him that had clung to the hope of a different outcome—that Hypnos would renounce all his resentment and insults, steadfast in his strength and unwavering in his love for his son, standing beside him even as the universe unraveled around them. He had been wrong.

"I prayed to you," Micah admitted quietly. He looked up again, meeting Hypnos' sorrowful gaze; they had the same eyes. Ruled by bitterness, his words filled with anger and frustration as he yelled, "I begged for your help, for some guidance, and all I got was silence! You have no idea what I've been through or the nightmares that haunt me every night." A tightness constricted his throat, and Micah buried his face in his hands in an attempt to hide the scalding tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. "Where were you then?" he demanded, trembling with anguish. His nails dug into the thin skin of his face in desperation because an ugly, horrible sensation seemed to claw its way up from his throat, yearning to escape his mouth and form the words, take me home. "You never showed up when I prayed," he said to Hypnos, his voice cracking as emotions of grief and resentment consumed him. "You were nowhere when I needed you. How can you say children need to be safe when you did not protect your own son? Where were you? Why did you show up when it's too late?"

Hypnos, clad in armor but notably devoid of a weapon, stood in front of him. His countenance bore the weight of regret and torment, as if he had personally experienced every iota of pain his son had endured during their separation. He extended a hand, offering solace through his touch. "I cannot undo the past," Hypnos replied softly, "but I can vow to you, Hiroki, that I'll always be by your side to protect you from now on." The god placed a hand on Hiroki's head, gently brushing his fingers through his hair. "Let me be there for you moving forward. Let us go home. Please, Hiroki—Micah—Whichever you prefer, let us go home now."

He sensed it in the atmosphere first, like an abrupt temperature shift. A shiver coursing down his spine, and the floor beneath his feet trembled ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly. "I keep telling you," Micah insisted. The drawn-out silhouettes that had engulfed the throne room vanished as the flames flickered and died. The shadows ever so subtly expanded, broadening grotesquely, as if reaching to grab anything they could. The air grew laden with an inexplicable weight. "It's too late," Micah whispered, his claim jarringly loud in the abrupt stillness of the room. "You were too late, Lord Hypnos."

For the first time since they laid eyes on him, Hypnos' gaze shifted away from his son, a weighing burden of dread settling in his brow. Through the fissures in the rooftop, the dwindling rays of sunlight struggled to penetrate, casting a feeble and ephemeral glow upon the damaged marble floor. Through the fissures in the rooftop, the dwindling rays of daylight struggled to penetrate, casting a feeble and ephemeral glow upon the ravaged marble floor. Hemera, who had been hurling incendiary orbs of fire to counter Zeus's relentless onslaught, began to wane, her brilliance dimming like a fading star. Hypnos watched aghast as the last vestiges of the sun's radiance dispersed, leaving only the lingering echoes of its brilliance amidst the choking smoke and the acrid smell of destruction. The goddess, defiant in the face of her nature, stood resolutely in front of Zeus and the rest of the Olympians, radiating one last, electrifying burst of brilliance before giving into the relentless advance of darkness, disappearing entirely from sight as the last beams of sunlight faded. The fierce clash of gods that had once illuminated the battlefield had since vanished into total darkness. A haunting and desolate silence settled over Olympus.

The day had drawn to an end, and the night had firmly taken hold.

Even Zeus himself appeared to have ceased breathing.

Suddenly and without prior notice, the colossal doors of the crumbling palace swung open, and a figure burst in. Morpheus emitted a sound of dismay as Percy Jackson strode boldly into view, his sword radiating like a celestial torch in the ghostly glow of the moon as several figures trailed behind. "He is supposed to be..." He mumbled, his words faltering into an incredulous hush. Whirling abruptly toward Phobetor, the god of sleep seemed profoundly betrayed. "You were entrusted with the task of keeping him in. How is he awake, Icelos?" Morpheus said, rage palpable as he thrust an accusatory finger in Phobetor's direction.

The god of nightmares acknowledged the accusation with a defiant look. "I am fulfilling my duty as an older brother," he replied. "A duty you would not understand, Morpheus."

Micah did not listen to their argument; his focus remained locked onto the son of Poseidon as his sea-green eyes darted frenziedly across the tumultuous battlefield, finally settling on Hypnos. "Lord Hypnos!" His voice surged with urgency as he approached the god, the words spilling forth in a frantic cascade. "We've got a problem; the hellhounds have—"

Before he could finish his sentence, a deafening roar echoed through the air as a pack of monstrous hellhounds surged forward, their menacing forms materializing from the shadows. The ground trembled beneath their charge, their fiery eyes locked onto their prey, ready to unleash their fury. Tendrils of darkness leaked from every crevice of their snarling jaws, and the stench of sulfur filled the air, smothering the air as Nyx appeared in a churning figure of ash and smoke, massive in size and billowing with an otherworldly power. Her eyes glowed with an intense, cosmic glare, piercing through the encroaching darkness. Her voice, distorted yet commanding, rippled through the night, sending shivers down the spines of all who heard it. As she raised her hand, a surge of energy crackled in the air, causing the ground to shake even more violently.

"Yes!" Nyx cackled uproariously, her laughter resonating with such manic delight that it sent shivers through the very air. Her presence seemed to warp reality itself, as if the laws of physics bent to her will and pervaded the burning throne room, casting an eerie sense of both triumph and terror upon all who bore witness to her power. The crackling energy intensified, illuminating her sinister grin as she declared, "Behold, the true extent of my dominion!"

Nyx loomed as an ancient force, eclipsing even the oldest Olympians and Titans, her existence tracing back to a time before even Gaia herself; the goddess of the night is one of the earliest beings to emerge from the boundless void of Chaos. She had played a pivotal role in shaping the very essence of the universe. A mere breath from her lips could ignite stars and topple mountains, and a single stare from her eyes could unravel the fabric of reality. She commanded the shadows cruelly, twisting them to her will and using them as weapons against anyone who dared to challenge her. Her dominion over the night was absolute, casting a shroud of darkness that instilled fear and awe in all who encountered it. Her power was unmatched. Engaging her in battle, especially with the backing of her offspring and the House of Midnight, was akin to confronting the very core of creation itself—it was a hopeless and futile endeavor. No deity could ever hope to rival the sheer magnitude of Nyx without ultimately succumbing to the abyss she held dominion over.

Zeus, aware of this, attempted to reason with the Protogenos. He pleaded for a peaceful resolution, emphasizing the importance of harmony and balance in the cosmos. "Nyx," the fallen king implored as the Olympians present seemed to embrace defeat; without Dionysus, Apollo, or Hermes, and with the children of Camp Half-Blood missing, still under the sleeping spell, the gods found themselves grievously weakened, their powers no match for the overwhelming threat of Nyx. They could not fight; only plead. "We must find a way to coexist for the sake of all beings that inhabit this universe," Zeus continued, his voice filled with desperation. "If we succumb to chaos and destruction, it will not only be the end of us gods but also the end of mortals and every living creature. We need to put aside our differences and work together to find a solution that ensures the survival of all! Your power is undeniable, but together we can ensure a world where darkness and light can thrive in equilibrium."

"Equilibrium?" Nyx's words seemed to emanate from every corner of existence and nowhere at all simultaneously. "Such a notion is but an illusion here. Where is my throne? Where does my husband find his seat? And my children, where is their rightful place in this supposed balance?" Her words dripped with mocking disdain. "You Olympians have always been so quick to invoke those scales of righteousness and fairness!" The goddess sneered. "You banished your very own brother. Why? Hades governs the Underworld with the same authority as Poseidon commands the seas, yet only one of them claims a throne. How can you speak of equilibrium when you fear us so? Why should a pathetic boy who is afraid of the Underworld be king? You fail to comprehend that chaos and darkness are as essential as light. Without Hades—without me—your precious equilibrium would crumble into monotony and stagnation. So, rather than pursuing a solution that caters solely to your desires, perhaps consider that you are rendered obsolete without us. Surrender, Zeus. I'll allow you to live if you do so. Choose otherwise, and well, we have no use for you, dear!"

Nyx's nightmarish tendrils surged upward, writhing like serpentine shadows, twisting and coiling as if they were creatures born from the darkest corners of the universe. Her fingers, cloaked in the endless abyss of her power, were like claws of pure cosmic entropy, slashing at the high ceiling of Olympus. Cracks raced like jagged lightning across the marble dome, splintering the once-immaculate surface into a nightmarish web of ominous fractures. The roof's outer shell began to crumble like ancient scrolls turning to dust, chunks of stone and marble hurtling downward like celestial meteors, revealing glimpses of the night sky above. But it was a night sky devoid of any stars or moonlight, a void that swallowed the very essence of hope.

Olympus had been reduced to ruins, an open wound in the sky.

"Oh dear," Hypnos said, his eyes aglow with a golden fire that emanated from within.

He acted swiftly, his lithe fingers rising gracefully as if orchestrating a hidden symphony. In response to his deft command, the ethereal golden sand materialized from the very essence of the air itself, swirling and coalescing with a hypnotic grace. Every grain of sand sparkled like a fragment of stardust, glimmering with a brilliant warmth that stood in stark contrast to the all-consuming pitch blackness of Nyx's shadows. The golden sand responded with an ethereal grace, its grains dancing and swirling in a mesmerizing display. It deftly weaved a protective cocoon around the half-bloods, safeguarding them. As the granite stones collided with the impenetrable sand bubble, they shattered into countless fragments, each impact creating a dazzling spectacle. These collisions sent radiant ripples of iridescent light rippling across the barrier, serving as a vivid testament to the unyielding strength of Hypnos's protective creation.

Dust and debris permeated the air. The disarray of the battle intensified, thunderous clashes and flashes of divine energy being swallowed by a sourceless darkness, but Hypnos remained steadfast, determined to keep the half-bloods safe amidst the crumbling palace. "You were supposed to wait for us outside, Percy." The god stated, filled with a mix of displeasure and fondness. "But I suppose it's a testament to your bravery that you couldn't bear to stay away!"

Percy didn't reply to the god.

Hypnos cast a worried glance downward, fearing that he might have intervened too late and that harm had befallen the children in his care, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the reason behind Percy's silence.

Micah and Percy had become lost in each other's presence.

Micah met Percy's gaze, unable to utter a word, his heart pounding in his throat. Covered in dust, his face streaked with blood and sweat, he felt exposed in a way that left him ashamed. He was not strong. How could he face Percy after everything he had done? He had convinced himself that his actions were a means to shield Percy from the horrors of Nyx, yet here they stood, both caught by the same fate. Self-loathing consumed Micah; he ripped his gaze from Percy, mouth trembled open as he tried to find the right words to apologize. The weight of guilt settled heavily on his shoulders, making it difficult for him to breathe. Micah's mind raced, desperately searching for a way to make amends and regain Percy's trust. But deep down, he knew that mere words would never be enough to undo the damage he had caused—A gentle touch brushed against his face, causing Micah to startle and turn towards the unexpected contact.

Percy's eyes held a mixture of concern as he extended his hand again, this time with deliberate tenderness, sweeping away the streaks of ash from Micah's cheek. As he parted his lips to speak, he abruptly halted, as if something in Micah's expression had shocked him. "Were you crying?"

Micah couldn't help but let out a fragile, choked laugh. The world seemed to blur around him; he could hear Zeus and Nyx, the voices of his aunts and uncles, his brothers, the howling of the Hellhounds, all blending together with the harsh sounds of battle and warfare. And yet all he could see was the golden radiance of his father's power, blanketing him, covering him with a sense of warmth and comfort he hadn't felt in ages.

An overwhelming wave of emotions surged within him, on the brink of engulfing him entirely. They did not have time for this, yet... Micah squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady his racing heart and regain control over his trembling body. When he reopened them, he turned to Percy. Thoughts of poetry and words of worship all rang in his head—a desire so overwhelming he could never quite stop. It all boiled down to: I long for you, Percy. I, who usually long without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you.

He was too tired, too burned, and too in pain to lie anymore.

"Just a bit," he confessed, vulnerability quieting his words. "Are you upset with me?"

"Just a bit," Percy conceded. He smiled then, radiant and utterly captivating, his sea-green eyes imbued with a gentle understanding. "But we can talk about it tomorrow during lunch. Let's get some melts from the corner store near Ninth Avenue, okay? They added more stuff to the bakery since the last time we went."

"Percy..." Micah began, his voice trailing off. The son of Poseidon shook his head.

"Don't be that way," Percy warned. "Unless you want me to genuinely be upset with you."

Micah made a faint, worn-out chuckle, closer to an exhale than a full-fledged laugh, unable to suppress it despite his exhaustion. Percy watched him closely, entranced by the way his lips melded into a tense line, the subtle dimple that emerged on his cheeks, the slight crinkle of his nose that formed faint lines along the bridge. Unable to stand another second without saying it, even as Nyx loomed overhead and the world minutes away from falling apart, Percy confessed. "I love you,"

Micah shook his head, a weary sigh escaping him. His hand reached out, fingers gently tracing Percy's. "I could live a thousand more lives," he said, his voice weighed with sincerity, "and still not deserve you in any of them."

Percy leaned in closer, their foreheads touching, and grinned as he replied, "But you'll have my heart in every single one of them."

It was hardly time for conversation. Beyond the protective sphere of Hypnos, the war escalated in volume, the imminent catastrophe drawing nearer with every fleeting second. Infernal explosions and the anguished shrieks of Hellhounds echoed all over, drowning out any hope of peaceful discussion between the Olympians and Nyx. Percy reached into his pocket, pulling out the ballpoint pen. "Ready?" Percy asked then. With a flick of his wrist, Riptide appeared, the double-edged celestial bronze sword steady in his hand.

Micah hesitated to speak. With his injuries, he would be a liability to Percy in battle—he would be more useful throwing himself down the Empire State Building or offering himself as a chew toy to distract the Hellhounds.
"You shouldn't be here," Micah uttered hopelessly, the pressure in his head mounting as he struggled to quell the pain. "I can't even protect myself, let alone you." He was unarmed, and his powers were useless in the presence of his brother, who possessed the same abilities without the risk of succumbing to blood loss or an overdose from an overindulgence in ambrosia.

Hypnos' presence held no significance.

He could not fight Nyx or Zeus.

He could not protect Percy.

Micah pressed his hand against his mouth, but he couldn't stifle the laughter that welled up inside him. It was a bitter sound, full of desperation and resignation. Ares had been right. He was just a stupid errand boy, taken advantage of by everyone, and the reality of his shackles has finally sunk in. He was utterly powerless.

Percy's face paled as he watched Micah's laughter turn into a painful coughing fit, shoulders hunching forward as he gasped on the air he desperately tried to breathe. "Your nose is bleeding." Percy became alarmed, rushing forward to offer support, but before he could touch him, a booming voice filled the room.

"Micah! Micah—My grandchild!"

Nyx's quasar eyes, like endless voids filled with the shattered remnants of stars, fixate on Hypnos and the two half-bloods with an intensity that sends shivers down the spine of anyone who dares to gaze upon her. These eyes, ceaselessly shifting and pulsating, seem to draw in all surrounding luminance, leaving only desolation in their wake. Nyx's monstrous hands stretch out from the all-encompassing shroud of her form. These appendages were shrouded in shadows, fingers elongated into contorted, claw-like protrusions of otherworldly mist that seemed to corrode anything they came into contact with. As she extends her grotesque hands toward Micah, Nyx's laughter resonates like the ominous mutterings of a thousand condemned souls, a chilling sound that reverberates through the chamber. The inky tendrils of her form slither and writhe as they snake around Micah's body, lifting him from the ground with an eerie grace, his form almost disappearing into the abyss of Nyx's grasp. "My littlest treasure, my precious little god!" The goddess cheered, her voice filled with twisted delight.

Micah continued to cough in her grasp, desperately gasping for air as the suffocating grip of Nyx tightened around him, holding him as if he were a helpless newborn cub hanging from its mother's jaws. He did not resist, just as a cub refrains from fighting against its mother, instinctively knowing that resistance is futile.

If not for his grandmother, what would he be? Little prince, littlest treasure, precious little god—these were the names he had carried throughout his life, sweet-sounding labels concealing a hint of poison in the guise of affection. A reminder of how he was both adored and played with by his grandmother; he was small, insignificant, a prince with barely any power, a treasure of questionable worth. However, throughout each beating and humiliation, his grandmother instilled in him a sense of purpose and bitter love. He only lived because of Nyx—he only lived for Nyx. Each breath became more labored, with a mixture of ichor and blood oozing from his nose and open mouth. His vision began to blur, the edges of his consciousness fading; the pain in his chest intensified, as if his ribs were melting under the heat of ambrosia, and yet he asked, "Grandmother, are you pleased?"

"Pleased?" Nyx echoed, surrounded by a swirling multitude of shadows. He could sense the chill in her grin and the prominence of her sharp teeth without even glimpsing her face. "My little treasure, you have surpassed all expectations!" She cackled as her hands lifted him higher into the sky, amidst the towering gods in their true forms. Dozens of deities were gathered, from the silent Olympians and the neutral Boreas to the Hesperides and the Moirai, who cheered at the sight of Micah. The air crackled with power as they reveled in his achievement, their voices blending into a symphony of praise and approval. Here, he found himself before Zeus, who regarded him with a look of betrayal in his stern silver eyes, amid the backdrop of dancing stars and pulsating constellations infused with otherworldly energy. Sitting on her palm, miniscule in comparison to the gods around him, Nyx exhibited his broken body with pride, taunting the gods and relishing her victory. "All shall bow before you, my dear grandson," she avowed, her voice echoing through the heavens. "Zeus, stare at the cause of your downfall!"

Micah's gaze was unwavering as he faced the wrathful Zeus. It wasn't his first encounter with a god in their true form; he had been born with the eyes to perceive the divine in all their ever-changing shapes. He did not blink or look away as Zeus's lightning-filled eyes crackled with fury. Uncaringly, he sat on the platform forged by his grandmother's shadows, his body feeling weightless despite the heaviness of pain. He scoffed tiredly, resting his arms on his knees. He took the time to adjust his grime-covered hair, wiping sweat off his check with the back of his wrist. He rubbed his temple with his thumb, attempting to alleviate the pain that had initially begun at the back of his head. Then, he spoke, his voice unfaltering despite his half-lidded eyes, uttering a single, devastating word: "Surrender."

"You dared?" Zeus asked in a quiet, strangled voice, rage seeping through his words. The room fell silent, the weight of his anger palpable. His eyes narrowed, a storm brewing within them, as he clenched his fists, ready to unleash his wrath upon the one who had challenged him.

Micah smiled slightly, sensing the blood on his chin and neck adhering to his skin. "Did all the thunder and lightning make you go deaf?" He taunted. "I dared."

Zeus's face contorted, his voice booming as he unleashed a thunderous roar. "You insolent mortal! Brace yourself for the repercussions of your audacity! How could you dare defy a god of my might and authority? To betray Olympus after all we've bestowed upon you?"

"What have you done for me?" Micah asked slowly. "More than that, how will you punish me? Look around you, King of the Gods. You only have a destroyed palace and a city in ruins. Your Olympians have fallen from their pedestals, rendered useless. There are no children for you to use as shields—you forced me to kill your offspring, and the two who were beyond my reach hold no love for you. The half-bloods cannot help you, and the humans have lost their faith in your divinity. Your reign is crumbling, Zeus, and your power is fading." Micah let out a sigh, almost pitiful, as he said. "There are no worshipers to rescue you now, Zeus. So, tell me, how do you intend to punish me?"

Nyx cackled at Zeus' desperate situation, her laughter echoing through the empty halls of Mount Olympus. "Oh, Zeus, it seems your arrogance has finally caught up with you," she taunted. "Perhaps it is time for you to face the consequences of your actions, just as you have forced others to do for centuries."

"You may have the upper hand for now, Nyx," Zeus growled, "but I am not one to be underestimated. Even in my weakened state, I will find a way to reclaim my power and restore balance to this realm."

It was not Nyx or Micah who responded, but Athena. "Father, what you seek to restore has long faded," the goddess of wisdom stated with a composed and measured tone. "The world has evolved, and so must we. It's time to usher in a new era of equality and collaboration, rather than perpetuating the cycle of power struggles. We must acknowledge our past errors and build a future that champions fairness and cooperation among all beings."

Micah chuckled tiredly as the gods listened to Athena's words. "Ah, Athena, always the voice of reason," he said with a hint of admiration. Above everything else, he was tired—so tired. Dazed and burning from within, he said. "Do you believe that you won't be punished? You filthy fuckin' Olympians spawn thousands of half-bloods in a world that wants them dead from the start and do nothing to protect them. Absolutely fuckin' nothing." He laughed at the thought, staring at the starless sky that surrounded him from this height. He closed his eyes, praying, who is like God? Nothing changed when he opened them again. Unable to dispel the anger and frustration that had accumulated within him, he pressed on, "You have palaces filled with gems, crystals, and gold—all the damn wealth in the universe—yet some of your children are starving, sleeping in alleyways and underneath trees, begging that they don't get torn to shreds."

Lost, he asked the gods. "What justice is there in that?"

Nobody offered a direct response. The gods remained absorbed in their pursuit of power and glory, heedless of the plight of half-bloods. Hypnos, who had been watching from a distance, quiet, oblivious to the events that had transpired leading up to this point, turned to his son and implored, "Hiroki, what is it that you desire?"

Micah thought of Atlas—of the immense fear he had felt witnessing Percy crumbling under the weight of the sky, unable to do anything as Percy's body strained and his face twisted in agony. He could still remember the feeling of pure despair at the thought of informing Sally Jackson that her son had died, crushed beneath the weight of the world—that Micah had been there and done nothing. Above all, he could remember the promise he had made to himself back then.

"I want change." He declared then. "I want peace, and I want children to have a chance. I want them to feel safe. I want half-bloods to live the way children are meant to—the way you raised Hiroki, Lord Hypnos, with love in a household filled with toys and food! With happiness instead of having to fight to survive each and every fucking day of this miserable existence!"

Nyx seemed taken aback by his outburst. "We had an agreement that you would assist your adoring grandmother in exchange for the pardon of those troublesome little half-bloods. Did I not do as you asked? Now you will do as I say. This isn't the moment to be issuing more demands, alright, my little god? I've taught you—"

"I love you, grandmother," Micah said with utmost sincerity, his voice carrying a depth of emotion that echoed through the skies. His eyes, glistening with tears, bore into the endless voids that formed hers. "You saved me. You kept me sane throughout those years in Tartarus. You gave me purpose and a reason to live when all I wanted was to die. Without you, I would have been weak. I promise, grandmother, that I will do whatever it takes to fulfill our agreement. I will bring justice to those who have wronged our family. But, grandmother," his voice cracked, the anguish of his revelation etched in every word. "I hate you as well. I hate all of you gods. I don't want to be one of you."

Tears welled up in his eyes as he struggled to contain the conflicting emotions within him. He thought of Atlas, condemned to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders for eternity. He thought of the River Lethe and how it had tasted like gore in his mouth; of the God his mother had worshipped when he had been Hiroki and his godly father; and he thought of the fear of losing those he loved. He thought of Percy and Ethan.

He thought of the life he longed to lead—a life with his family in a home with double doors and a garden teeming with vegetables. To have Nico and Ethan over for home-cooked dinners, to watch them grow up, and to see those two children who so closely resembled him find happiness in their own skin. He wants to get married, and grow old with Percy, and tease him over their gray hairs and all those mundane things that were unreachable for half-bloods like them.

He wants to live.

The realization of it made him cry.

"That," Nyx stated plainly, annoyed with the emotional display, "does not matter. You will ascend. You will be reborn as Michaías, the god of atonement. You will join me and the rest of your family in the House of Midnight, where your actions tonight will be addressed and corrected."

"Mother," Hypnos said, his tone chilling. "What is the meaning behind these words?"

"My sweet dream weaver!" Nyx spoke with a voice as soft as the night breeze, sickeningly sweet with adoration for her youngest son. "Of course, you know our Micah—Er, Hiroki—will become a god! He is my flesh and blood, and his destiny is written in the stars! How could such a talented and gifted child like him not ascend to godhood? Trust your mother, dear! I've taken care of him in your absence with extraordinary love and care, ensuring that he receives the best training and guidance. His path to godhood is inevitable, my darling—"

"My absence?" Hypnos asked with a quivering smile. Anger flickered in his eyes as he struggled to keep his composure. "Mother, you speak as if I have abandoned my own son. I was under the impression that he had kept his distance willingly, but now I am starting to question that assumption."

"Well, my snugglebug," Nyx hesitated. "For young heroes, distance is a necessary part of growth! He needed space to discover his own path and develop his own identity without the influence of his godly lineage. It was a test of his strength and independence to see if he could thrive on his own—"

Like a cord strung too tightly, Hypnos erupted in a blaze of fury. "He is my son! He has absolutely no need to prove anything, let alone to you, mother! How dare you arrogantly snatch my son away from me and subject him to such perilous trials! He should be right by my side, where he rightfully belongs, not out here, fending for himself in this world!"

Micah stood on his platform, weak and trembling but determined.

"Why can't you see it?" Hiroki's voice rang out, cutting through the cacophony of their heated argument. Heavy tears cascaded from his red-stricken eyes, each droplet laden with the burden of innumerable years of pain and isolation. Throughout his entire existence, he had yearned for their love and approval, only to be met with apathy and cunning manipulation.

Micah, who had served Zeus obediently like a dog, turned to face the god now, confronting him in a moment of unprecedented defiance. The god, now towering in his true form, loomed colossal, casting a shadow over the diminutive half-blood, who appeared as small as a single eyelash in comparison to the deity. Despite the staggering contrast in size, Micah felt no fear.

"Only a single blessing from you," he spoke with a tempestuous torrent of raw emotion, "just one act of compassion could save us all!" His voice resonated with a fervent intensity as he continued, "Aren't you ashamed? You watch your own children suffer, fully aware that it could all be stopped. Why should you be pardoned after everything you've done? Why should I call you a god after everything? Why should I respect you when your actions fill me with so much disgust and hatred?"

He could not speak anymore.

As the turmoil within him raged on, he swayed on unsteady legs, his face contorting in a grimace of excruciating agony. The world around him blurred into insignificance; there was nothing but the all-encompassing pain that seemed to devour him from the inside out. Beads of sweat formed a glistening constellation upon his furrowed brow, trickling down his face like tearful witnesses to his suffering. In front of the gods, exactly where his grandmother had positioned him on a display for all to witness, Hiroki fell. He instinctively curled inward, as though attempting to shrink into himself, desperately seeking any respite from the unrelenting torment that held him captive. His forehead radiated heat, burning with an intensity that seemed to penetrate his very soul—the ambrosia would surely burn through his veins, scorching every ounce of his being.

The wounds that marred his back felt as though they were ripping him apart, each searing laceration exposing his spine to the cruel scrutiny of the gods, like vultures eager to pick at his ribs and tear out his heart.

He would allow it. He knew he would permit them to cut him to pieces if it meant an end to the suffering. He had endured innumerable torments, yet this was unlike anything he had ever encountered. The agony consumed him, leaving no room for thoughts or pleas for mercy except for one desperate wish that echoed incessantly in his mind:

He wanted Percy.

With that longing thought in his mind, he finally surrendered, closed his eyes and drifted into unconsciousness.






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𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! ! !

Thank you for 100,000+ reads! I was so astonished when I noticed! Since I anger-published this fanfic, I truly didn't think anyone would like it enough to read it, much less have 100,000+ reads and so many comments and votes. Thank you so much!

I'd love to hear what aspects of the story any of you are confused by? Are there any plot points I haven't fully explored or any peculiar aspects you've noticed? I'll make an effort to provide answers and explanations for everything in the upcoming two chapters. If something seems too distant from the main plot, I'll add an extra section at the end for it so everything is addressed. Oh, and also any particular moments anyone would like to read about for one-shots?

Comment anything and I'll see what I can write!

okay back to the original note:

So um I'm a fucking liar sorry guys!! Contrary to what I mentioned in my previous note, this chapter isn't as bad as I initially thought.. It was supposed to be but it was getting too lengthy and its been far too long since I last updated so I just chopped it in half so here you go!

Next part is so... Sad... I cried while writing it for once LOL
I just want to be done so we can move forward to happier content, honestly. I miss snarky non-manic non-suicidal Micah and want to see him get better <3

Oh, speaking of Micah! I've been listening to Hozier and all the songs in Unreal Unearth are so him?? first time is literally him and percy. who we are ? unknown?? BANGERS

anyway sorry i havent updated school is annoying okay bye!!

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